


Isildur's Bane

by RiverWoman



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:39:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1272013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverWoman/pseuds/RiverWoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the Battle of the Last Alliance Elrond takes Isildur into Orodruin to destroy the Ring.</p><p>Could he? Should he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Isildur's Bane

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a fic challenge:- “What really happened inside Mount Doom?”  
> Using:-  
> ‘Take your hands off me.’ – Elrond  
> ‘What are you but an Elf? I am a Man. I could own you; break you.’ – Isildur  
> ‘Please.’ – Either.
> 
> I have given a 'Mature' rating for language use.
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters belong solely to the Tolkien Estate, I merely play with them and I always put them back afterwards. I write for fun, no harm is intended.
> 
> ****************************************************************************

** Isildur’s Bane **

 

***************

 

‘Iss-ill-duurr! … follow me.’

The half-elf glares at me. Why oh why does he insist on that stupid pronunciation of my name? Damn Elves. My name is Isildur. Simple.

But I smile at him and nod; might as well see what he wants. Elves, for all their showy good looks and wisdom remain … simple.

As I walk towards him I remember I am still holding the Ring, fresh from Sauron’s finger. It burns. Even through my heavy, leather glove, I can feel its heat. He turns and walks away, leading me up a broad path. I follow the half- elf. By all the gods, but he moves with the grace of a woman and a highborn woman at that.

‘Iss-ill-duurr … come along.’

His long, black hair flows freely and untamed behind him. His beautiful face is streaked with battle grime and his armour is splashed with black blood. He speaks Westron with the accent all Elves give it. The words drip like sweet honey from his lips.

‘Where are you taking me?’ I call to him.

‘Into the mountain,’ he points up the path. ‘Come.’

I catch up to him. He is lithe, svelte and so desirable. Battle lust still courses through my body. I find I am panting. Is it the effort of climbing this mountain … or something else? We enter the mountain through a manmade archway. I feel the heat from the fires within immediately. The fires of Orodruin burn hot, hotter than a harlot’s twat. I laugh at that thought. Why do I find this whole thing amusing? My father and brother lay dead; the High King of the Elves is also gone, all victims of Sauron’s might. Yet, here I am, alive and thinking of hot sex.

We stand at the edge of the crevasse, the half-elf and I. The flames rise up. They crackle and spurt. The energy is tangible, as if the very core of the mountain were alive. He turns to me.

‘Cast it into the fire, Iss-ill-duurr.’

His lips are perfectly formed, his eyes, clear and deep. I expect his mouth tastes like sweet wine, most of them do. Elves have a unique taste, both at the mouth and … elsewhere. Nothing at all like men. Men have the taste of meat and the stink of the rut about them. Women stink of stale perfume and female juices. But Elves, ah Elves. They are Spring and Summer, fresh flowers and soft, ripe fruits.

He watches me. Does he wonder why I hesitate?

‘The Ring. Cast the Ring into the fire,’ he insists again.

The Ring grows heavy in my palm; cooler now, I feel it resonate through my glove and down into my flesh. The Ring likes me. I hear a whisper.

_‘Isildur.’_

Oh! It knows my name. The Ring is my friend. I bring my eyes up to meet those of the half-elf; he still glowers at me.

‘Why should I cast it away, half-elf? Is this not the salvation of us all?’ I move closer to him. I see his eyes flash in anger. By all the gods, he oozes sex. He drips sex. I want to drive myself into him. To cleave to him. To have my name on his lips as I come inside him and he spills his seed into my eager hand.

‘Do it now!’ and he points into the fiery pit.

He is commanding me, his voice hoarse. Is it from lust? Does he want me as much as I want him? I laugh out loud … why does battle do this to a man? When does battle lust become … plain lust? He frowns at my laughter.

I like the way the Ring nestles quietly in the palm of my gloved hand. Still holding the Ring, I lift my hand to his face and run a finger down his cheek. He recoils as if my touch burns him.

‘Why fight it, half-elf? I want you and my guess is that you want me. I wonder, does your cock betray you?’ Not releasing his face, with my other hand I caress his golden armour. I trace a line down to his hip. He does not move, his face betrays no sign of emotion. We lock eyes. I thrust my hand under his Mithril surcoat and claim my prize. I tease his cock with my finger through his leggings. It twitches with each touch, yet remains soft. Not one movement or flicker of desire crosses his beautiful, arrogant face. ‘You cannot deny me, half-elf.’

‘My name is Elrond, Lord Elrond, as well you know, whelp of Elendil. I am not yours, nor ever will be. Now, get your hands off me.’

He shows no fear.

‘I will take you then, whether or no.’ I do not understand his reluctance. By now, other Elves I have claimed would already be on their knees, begging me to plunder them. Where did that dirk come from? It presses against my throat; against my pulsing lifeblood. Slowly, I remove my hand from his face and the other from his reluctant cock. Pity. He would have been a match for me in size when he was aroused. I feel the sharp sting of pain as my skin breaks under his blade.

He means business.

I raise my arms in defeat and he slowly removes the dirk from my neck and sheaths it.

‘I am not one of the Elves who have frequented your tent since the start of this campaign,’ he hisses at me, his spittle splashes my lips. I lick it and savour the moment.

‘’Tis a pity, you would have enjoyed it,’ I smile at him, ‘Gil-galad did.’ This is wicked of me I know, but the look of disbelief on his face is worth it. Time to press my advantage. ‘He said you would prove difficult, but if ever I found a way past your principles, then you would be a prize worthy of any king, Man or Elf.’

My head makes rather hard contact with the side of the mountain. I did not expect him to be so fast, or strong. My feet are no longer touching the ground as he pins me against the rock face. But I enjoy the feeling, he is pressed against me and his hands are on my body.

‘You would do well to remember to whom you speak, boy. The High King would not have whored himself to a cur like you. Nor will I.’

He lets go of me and I fall heavily. The Ring speaks my name once more as I still clutch it in my hand. I look at it and touch it gently. It responds by sighing. The Ring is mine; I hold in my hand the Ring of Power. I shall wield it and restore the Race of Men to their former glory. I could rid this world of meddling, arrogant Elves … oh, now that _is_ a dark thought.

‘Time grows short, Iss-ill-duurr. Destroy the Ring, now! before it takes your mind. You cannot wield it; none can.’

Has he read my thoughts? Some say that Elves have the power to see into another’s mind. He glares at me, pointing again to the chasm and the flames that leap up and burn therein. I close my fist over my Ring.

‘What are you but an Elf and a half-breed at that? I am a Man and a king. I could own you, break you.’ I move towards him, showing him the Ring as I do so. He backs away, his face twisted in fear as the full realisation of what I possess dawns upon him.

‘Destroy it!’ he pleads with me.

He is begging now. Good.

‘No,’ I turn and walk away.

‘Iss-ill-duuurrr!’

His voice echoes through the mountain. I stop and turn back to him. For one fleeting moment, there is a look of relief on his face; does he really think I would destroy this most … most precious of things? Simpleton.

‘Do you know why I will not destroy the Ring, half-elf?’ I yell back at him. He makes no reply. ‘Very well, I will tell you. Not once did you say ‘please’,’ I turn on my heel and leave.

 _‘Isildur.’_ The Ring purrs my name and soothes me.

‘My Precious,’ I whisper back.

 

**FIN.**

 

**********


End file.
